The People Who Wait For Your Arrival Poem by RIC BASTASA

sometimes by the sound of the clock
you know when the last hour ends
you see yourself there, hands bound,
feet dissolving, and body thinning out
like the last breath the you give to the
wind,

you look back, you have really wasted so
many hours, since you do not know what
to do with your future anymore,
it is there where the road bends into
a certain depth and now one waits for you,

death is no longer interesting, and weeping
is out of the question,
the maps in your palms blur,
there is no rainbow from your head
to the road,

it is certain as a day that unfolds tomorrow,
why should there be darkness?
light is also a symbol of endings,

you live in a cave, and you keep concentrated
on the shadows that dance before you,
you walk on that tunnel, climb a hole and
inch by inch you arrive at the inevitable,

that door, that opening, that gives you light
and you are surprised, there is no crying here,
but only the silence of those who arrive much
ahead,

and they tell you, you have possessed the wisdom
of lightness,
a property of light,
and they smile, and then laugh
why they have done so much struggling
when there is actually
no need

whatsoever